Who Loves Him True
by Annelim
Summary: Dorian breaks into Klaus's apartment to court him, like he does. But when Klaus finally comes home, something's not right with him.


The setting was perfect.

Everything had been planned down to the least detail. Dorian was fully convinced that he had thought of everything. In fact, he had prepared for this event with more attention than he normally gave to breaking into some of Eroica's most challenging targets. After all, the treasure he currently pursued was of immeasurable worth.

The very date itself had been selected with due care. Dismissing several other options as inferior (or too long in the coming), Dorian had finally decided on the fifteenth of July, as this day was nothing less than his and Klaus's anniversary: the fourth anniversary of the day they first met, that bright summer day in fair Eberbach. Wouldn't it be simply splendid if they finally got together that very day as well? In the many years to come they would then have a double joy to celebrate. Easier to remember too, for those less inclined to find such matters of importance. Seriously. Dorian had even been forced to point out to Klaus the International Day of Art! When Dorian had referred to it, Klaus had just blinked at him.

"No Battle Plan Survives First Contact With the Enemy", Klaus had quoted to him at some point. Which Dorian found unbelievably adorable - why did the military bother to plan battles at all, then? His heists usually went without a hitch. Except when military got involved, that was true, so maybe there was something to that saying after all. Klaus had turned out to have a dratted late dinner meeting with some NATO bigwigs on the 15th. Dorian had agonised over this hindrance for a long time, but had then made up his mind one day while relaxing in the North Downs castle's spa. Obstacles were there to be conquered and make the victory all the sweeter. A pesky detail like Klaus coming home late would not deter Dorian from the plan already made up and envisioned a hundred times.

Today would be the day. Their day!

After Bonham had contacted him, reporting that Klaus was safely off with the bigwigs and thus would not swing by his apartment first to pick up something (a possible complication foreseen and contingency planned for), Dorian broke in and arranged everything to his satisfaction.

Wine and beer were chilling together in the living room.

Tiny balls with linden and spruce had been carefully stashed in places Klaus wouldn't find until next time he swept the apartment for bugs. Not too many, but enough to emit a pleasant scent that Klaus probably wouldn't find too frivolous yet which would hopefully serve to relax him just a little. Linden grew aplenty around Eberbach and no doubt Klaus would subconsciously associate the smell with being home and running in the forest, both activities he liked.

Dorian had also brought a small music player. The sound was somewhat tinny, but the tape ran for 60 minutes and contained various songs that Dorian hoped Klaus would approve of, up to and including the Deutschlandlied.

His original plan had included luxurious food with plenty of potato. Since Klaus's meeting was held at a restaurant, though, a more elaborate meal had been removed as a primary part from the agenda. The gang had been unable to find out exactly where the NATO meeting would take place, however, and on the off chance that Klaus might have refused to eat if the bigwigs had selected some truly outlandish choice of restaurant, such as an Italian one, Klaus's previously very sparse fridge now contained a large tray with easily heated delicacies. Should Klaus prove even the slightest bit peckish, well, even Dorian could heat food! Especially since Jones had so painstakingly detailed exactly how this mysterious task was to be performed. Dorian had notes. How difficult could it be?

There was also a smaller tray, one that Dorian had higher hopes might be included in the evening's proceedings. This tray carried a selection of salt crackers, sliced pear, Ammerländer Schinken and various cheeses. And finally two matching Royal Worcester bowls, the first with fresh strawberries and the second with whipped cream - just in case the evening went very, very, very well. Dorian was a born optimist, but should the evening not work out according to plan he had decided to steal the strawberries on his way out, to console himself with.

No guest should ever come courting without a suitable gift, especially not if uninvited, and while Dorian considered himself the best kind of guest, who brought food, drink and entertainment, Lord forbid he should ever risk being considered ungracious. Wrapped in silver paper and red ribbons with little gold hearts, waited an inch thick folder with documents Dorian had found lying around various safes in Washington DC, London and, what was the name of that sillily shaped building again, oh yes, the Pentagon. Unimportant, really, in the grand scheme of things, but he hoped Klaus would find what the documents contained interesting enough. And Dorian had been quite flattered to see himself listed as one of Klaus's known associates in the FBI's folder on NATO's finest. Known associate - partner - life partner; not very long steps at all, were they?

The right outfit is, of course, invaluable for any occasion, but especially important ones. Dorian wore a very conservative, sedate outfit in pistachio green with darker green details. He had even limited his jewelry accessories to a large golden ring on his right hand and a very dashing diamond clip in his left ear. Oh, and the old-fashioned, jeweled pocket watch with the Rogues' Gallery insignia (a man running down a hill carrying a torch) in his breast pocket, with the white gold chain making a very elegant double curve on the outside. And his signature gold chain, needless to say, jingling on his right wrist whenever he moved his hand. He might be wearing some other jewelry as well, which Klaus would only discover if, well, the evening went very, very, very well ...

Not that Dorian actually counted on the evening going very, very, very well. That wasn't the point of the evening (though, of course, just for the record: Dorian certainly wouldn't lodge any formal complaints if the evening ended with clothes being removed and whipped cream applied).

La pièce de résistance waited in the living room - a chess game! With custom made pieces - very custom made. Klaus's team was in white; Dorian's in black. Klaus's king was a very nicely made miniature of old Pumpkin pants - Becks' job; Dorian's was the Lubyanka report. Bonham and Volovolonte played black towers; Z and A white ones. While the board was set with the regular number of pieces, the box (also custom made) held a wide set of optional pieces, so that Klaus could pick which agents he wanted to play with - and several different kings of each colour, just to keep things interesting: a miniature of Achilles; the Pope; the crown jewels; not Caesar, as Klaus seemed annoyed and possibly a bit jealous every time the delightful young Englishman was mentioned; Klaus's Magnum; Klaus's belt ...

Dorian was faintly concerned with his "known associate" (it did have a rather nice ring to it, he decided, especially if accompanied with a knowing nod and wink) getting annoyed with his position as White Queen, but not unduly so. Klaus must know the queen to be the most powerful piece. The pieces themselves were made of sturdy resin so they wouldn't be easily damaged, should the evening turn out to be somewhat less than the stunning success Dorian longed for and Klaus threw the entire lot out the window.

His grand plan was to let the chess game act as a shield between them. A shield to guard Klaus's virtue from Dorian's passion, so that the uptight major could relax and let his guard down a little. Klaus had enough strategy and winning spirit that Dorian felt certain he should be able to persuade the man to a game or two. By blackmail if necessary - it was for a good cause, after all. With good wine (or beer, for those less sophisticated among them), excellent cheese and a rather tasty ham they would spend a couple of hours getting to know one another without the hostility that often lingered as soon as Klaus got within shouting distance.

That was when things usually went wrong. Things were yelled; emotions hurt; huffiness; grudges; plans of revenge, and before you knew it, you were parachuting off an airplane with Klaus's belt in your hands, James screaming like a banshee in your ear and money raining all around you. So Dorian intended them to have a nice evening to just enjoy each other's company, no James, no screaming, and hopefully Klaus would realise that things weren't as bad as he imagined.

And on rare occasions Dorian did quite fancy chess. Not to mention that the board had taken quite a lot of preparation. Perhaps the happy couple-to-be would play regularly henceforth. Winner gets to top, perhaps? Or bottom, if that's their preference. He knew that Klaus would always play to win and it would be a shame if the prize wasn't something the winner truly wanted. Hmm ... Winner's choice, then.

Now, if only Klaus would come home already. It was getting late.

The tape recorder played "Ich schieß' den Hirsch im wilden Forst" and Dorian found himself humming along to the hunter's love song.

* * *

A quarter to eleven (22:45 for those so inclined).

Apparently Klaus's dinner meeting had extended to a bit longer than anticipated.

Dorian was getting quite annoyed. Of course he kept telling himself that he shouldn't blame Klaus. The good major couldn't know that Dorian waited for him. Had Klaus known he would have hurried home - um - okay, so more likely he would have slept in the office for the night. Or would have arrived with storm troopers. However, he would have done so on purpose. As it was, Dorian didn't even have his reluctant darling to blame for the delay.

He had been nervous all evening, anticipating how Klaus would react to his presence - badly, at first - and then to the evening Dorian had prepared - again, badly, at first, but hopefully he would gradually soften up. The difficult part would be avoiding the initial shooting, but, again, if need be Dorian was fully prepared to tease his stubborn dear into cooperation with that thick folder awaiting Klaus, in exchange for getting his foot in - um, or his pert buttocks not thrown out, as the case might be.

For the first hour he had watched the news and the weather forecast for tomorrow (Thunder. Again. It was Bonn, after all.), mostly with his right ankle elegantly on his left thigh and drumming his fingers in a quick rhythm on his leg. Then an episode of Tatort before he turned the television off and concentrated on the music. Regrettably, he had been forced to concede that they might only have time for the one game of chess.

~click~

The tiny noise barely penetrated Big Band der Bundeswehr playing the Panzerlied, but Dorian's sensitive ears recognised the turn of a key - and then the door to Klaus's apartment opened.

Dorian took a perfunctory glance at himself in the sideview mirror. At first he hadn't understood the strange placing until he realised that the angle afforded the person sitting on the sofa a perfect view of the hallway. With satisfaction he noted that he looked absolutely ravishing, as always. Then he stood and stepped out to reveal himself, rather than get shot as an intruder.

Klaus stood on the other side of the threshold, staring into his apartment.

Dorian took a small step forward. This was the tricky part: to get Klaus to actually listen to him and get with the program, rather than start yelling or - even worse - hitting. Hm, but he hasn't even pulled his gun yet. He must have recognized me in the mirror. Though he does usually aim at me anyway. Strange.

"I have something important you will want to hear about," he said swiftly and saw Klaus close his eyes and shake his head hard. "I come in peace; I propose a temporary-"

Klaus's left hand came up in the universal sign of 'stop'.

"-truce," Dorian continued. "I will be on my best behavior, I promise. These hands will not-"

Eyes like green fire flashed open again, boring into him with such intensity that Dorian did shut up without even being ordered to. Then Klaus stepped forward, no - marched forward. Five long steps took him into the apartment and directly up to Dorian. He barely had time to tense up, thinking Klaus would either hit him or kiss him and for a second the combined prospects made his cock twitch - when the sixth step went past him and the seventh completed a 90 degree turn into the kitchen.

Automatically, Dorian also turned. "-touch body parts they are not welcome to touch," he finished, confused at being thus ignored. There had also been something in the way those green eyes had stared at him for just a second; something about the intentness to that look that he simply couldn't decipher. Had it been any other man than NATO's Demon Major, Dorian might have been tempted to label the witnessed emotion "desperation".

A sucking noise from the kitchen drew his attention: it took him a second to identify it as the opening of the refrigerator.

Anyway. The first part of his brilliant plan, to get Klaus inside the apartment with a minimum of shouting and violence, must be deemed a stunning success. So ...

"Are you hungry by any chance, dear?" he asked and also stepped into the kitchen. As the fridge door opened towards him he couldn't tell for sure what Klaus was doing - but it did offer him an excellent view of Klaus's long, lovely legs and that firm arse which had fuelled an astonishing number of Dorian's masturbation fantasies. By the sound of things Klaus was moving stuff around, looking for something. "I do have this lovely little meal planned for us, it won't take long to warm up. I have to heat the oven first, though. I'm not entirely sure why."

"Bier," was said tightly from within the fridge.

"Ah, but if you are thirsty I can-"

"Ich will Bier. Sofort. Wo bleibt mein Bier?"

"You sure I can't interest you in some delightful Eiswein instead, dear? It does go much better with-"

A hand appeared, gripping the edge of the fridge door so tightly that the knuckles whitened and then the door was smashed back in place with a tinny protest from within. Klaus glared at him again. The ... desperation? Dorian couldn't shake the very uncanny feeling that, yes - that strange emotion would in some lesser, ordinary man look a lot like desperation. However, he was very relieved to see that whatever the emotion might be this time it was mixed with the far more familiar, at this point almost affectionately recognized, mounting fury.

Years of dancing at the edge of that volcanic fire had also taught Dorian how to recognize some other clear warning signs - such as how Klaus's hand, the one that had previously gripped the poor fridge so tightly, twitched - and how the teeth he glimpsed beneath taut lips seemed on the verge of gnashing.

For once Dorian's survival instinct reported that he might be approaching territory where angels would start paying attention to the ground in order to gauge the ease of a rapid take-off. "In the living room," he offered. "Your beer is chilling with my wine."

Not that he didn't enjoy the occasional beer himself, but some situations simply called for wine, if not champagne.

Almost imperceptibly the hand twitched again. Then the eyes closed, only to flash open a second later. Just like before, Klaus marched straight past him, actually brushing the side of his body roughly against Dorian in the process. However, this time Dorian was ready and he shadowed Klaus into the living room, where the other man had already spotted the cooling bucket and snatched up one of the three beers. The brown bottle was raised and Dorian had just time to draw breath to cry out a protest before the bottle cap met Klaus's molars - and lost.

Dorian shuddered hard and felt that he must, if not scream, then at least voice his most sincere opinion on that type of behavior. "That's an excellent way of ruining your teeth, darling!"

Alas, his protest seemed to fall on totally deaf ears. The bottle was simply turned upside down and treated to something near enough to fellatio in Dorian's book that he felt a surge of pure desire. He watched in utter fascination how Klaus's Adam's apple gulped up and down.

"So ... " he said softly and cleared his throat. "No problems with your gag reflex, then?"

He didn't get a reaction to that either, which was starting to worry him. Surely even Klaus would have picked up on that connotation? But all that happened was that shortly afterwards the bottle was carelessly dropped back in the cooling bucket - and another lifted in its place. This time Dorian had time to reach for Klaus's arm, hoping to prevent the horror of another bottle opened with his teeth. He had put a perfectly good bottle opener on the table, no need to be all macho about it! A hot glare - sadly hot as in lethally dangerous, not hot as in sexy - made him hesitate and then whatever window of opportunity he might have had closed. This lucky bottle was handled much like its brother, just turned upside down to pour its content down Klaus's apparently surprisingly talented throat.

"Bad meeting, dear?"

Dorian jumped as the bottle crashed to the floor by his feet. Luckily none of the shards hit him. He would have yelled, but there was something feral in Klaus's glare and a finger waved hard in his direction.

"Du da!" was growled at him. " Du da!"

"My favorite topic. Yes? Ah ... Klaus? Seriously, whatever is the matter? I do assure you, I do happen to have some very interesting information-"

"Halt die Klappe!" And then, when Dorian did shut up: "Du da!"

The third - last - bottle was snagged. This one, too, met its fate at Klaus's molars, but unlike its lucky brethren, was not immediately sucked dry, though Klaus did take a healthy swig.

"You!" was said, a fourth time, if this time in the Queen's English, rather than in Hochdeutsch. Then Klaus sank down on the sofa as if his knees no longer carried him. His head lolled on the back rest and he looked up at Dorian - again with that strange, horrible emotion that might even be desperation if judged by Klaus's out-of-character behavior. "Tell me!" The sentence was spat out, but while the question that followed started as an angry demand, somewhere half-way through the tone changed and the last word became an appeal, dangerously close to a prayer. "What am I doing wrong?"

Dorian blinked. "Seriously, Klaus, do tell me what has happened! What on Earth is going on?" His imagination, very active not just for masturbation purposes, was drawing up scenarios that involved the outbreak of a conflict ending with the Roman number III.

With the hand not clutching the bottle, Klaus massaged his temples. "Is it something I do? Something in the way I move?" He sounded like he honestly wanted an answer and was willing to listen. "The way I dress? The way I talk? Tell me."

Dorian shrugged helplessly. "I ... I do want to help you, my love, you must know that. But, the thing is - I honestly have no clue what it is you are asking. What about what you do and how you move and how you dress and how you talk? Please, do let me help you."

The beer label was studied for a moment, then the bottle drunk from again. "Am I acting ...-" Klaus entire body shook, as if in revulsion. He nearly spat the final word. "-... invitingly?"

"Invi- Oh. To, you mean- Ah ..."

"Ja, bloody hell, to ah!"

Dorian quickly sat down opposite to Klaus and leaned forward, hands on his knees, carefully studying the tired features of the man before of him. "Klaus, did someone ... come on to you? Someone ... else?"

A listless shrug answered him. Then he was glared at, though not for long. The beer was subjected to another intent scrutiny and when Klaus spoke, his words were clearly aimed more at the bottle than at any British poofter who happened to have invaded his apartment. "Tonight was the biannual meeting with the administrative chiefs of the European division. General Schneider, General Hawks, General Fischer. Major Meyer, Major Naviers and Major Schmidt were there - and Herr Hoffmann."

And one of those bastards had had the unmitigated gall to come on to his Klaus? This demands retribution! Two hundred years ago there would have been a duel at dawn at the very least!

"We went through the personnel lists; the current security threats; the regulation changes. The Russian infiltrators; the English moles; the American wanna-bes. The-" Klaus rattled off the minutiae of the meeting efficiently, pouring out abstracts in a tight voice Dorian didn't like the sound of at all.

The nerve! Someone trying to take Klaus away from me! He'll regret he ever admired the shade of my dear one's eyes!

"General Fischer is an old friend of my father. He is retired now, but he is an expert in one of the areas to be discussed, so they brought him to advise us. He asked if Father was in town, but I told him Father is in Switzerland. He was disappointed; he had wanted to talk to him." Klaus hesitated and took another quick swig. The bottle was almost empty and he eyed the wine left in the cooling bucket with distrust. "He ... asked if I wanted to stay after the dinner, to talk with him about Father. Have a drink. He'd tell me about Father and their adventures. They were in service together. I-"

Dorian frowned, not liking where this seemed to be heading.

"-accepted. I like hearing such stories. I have met him before, at the Schloss, when I was a boy. The others left. I had a Jägermeister; he had a Cognac. We had already had wine with the meal. He said-"

The last beer was emptied in one, long swallow. Klaus looked towards the bottle cooler again. "I bought a six-pack three days ago. I haven't drunk one since. Where are the other three? They were not in the fridge."

Well, no. Because, seriously – cold beer? Klaus might like it, but Dorian preferred the brew room-temperature, to better appreciate the flavour, and he truly hadn't expected Klaus to guzzle down all three cold ones in less than ten minutes! Especially not if he had, as he claimed, had both wine and at least one Jägermeister earlier. The latter packed quite a punch. Dorian remembered Spain all too well - it hadn't taken more than a bottle and a half of Vodka and dry Gin to get both Mischa and Klaus going. Not that he himself stomached alcohol much better, if he was to be brutally gauche and honest with himself, but never mind that now.

Wordlessly, Dorian leaned to where he had stored the rest of the six pack under the table, snagged one and, with due hesitation, handed it over. The offering was snatched away from him and pulled to Klaus's lap, where Dorian couldn't help but to notice how the bottle was leaned rather comfortably against the zippered bulge in the crotch of Klaus's trousers - probably completely by happenstance, but still.

"General Fischer said that I had grown up well, that I had become a ... handsome man. I thought- I didn't think anything of it. Father's friend. They all say things like that. 'How tall you've become, Klaus Heinz.' 'I remember when you weren't taller than my knee, Klaus Heinz.' Fuck it. Idiots. Fuck them. He said ... I had another Jägermeister and he spoke some of Father and later he said he'd ... pay for the drinks and then he-" Finally, the fourth bottle was lifted and short work made of the cap. "-put his hand on my thigh."

By now, Dorian's imagination had run six or seven scenarios of possible outcomes, most of which left him chilled to his bones. Of course, four or five of them were more dreadful than the others. "Klaus ... You didn't let him, ah-"

The bottle was abruptly lowered and green eyes flashed at him. "Well, I couldn't bloody well sock him one, could I? He's not some bloody thief; he's my bloody superior and a bloody friend of my bloody father! I-"

Right. That was it. This General Fischer would die. "How" would yet be determined. Probably swiftly and painlessly, because Dorian was not a cruel man per se and blood stains were so difficult to get out of most types of clothes he favoured, but die the general would. "When" was just a question of how long the major-abusing bastard would take to locate. A squirt of Eroica Sleeping Gas TM and the body would be just another item to transport - probably easier than most, as little care would be necessary for to avoid breakage.

"-told him I cut the fingers off the last guy who tried to feel me up. What's with the wide eyes? It wasn't you anyway, and I'm bloody tired of this! So, now tell me! Out with it!"

Relief so pure it hurt swept over Dorian, but did little to smother his fury. His temper might be less volcanic in nature than Klaus's, but once ignited, it consumed everything in its path.

"No," he finally said, keeping his voice soft as not to betray his still churning emotions. Then, as Klaus's narrowed eyes implied that the message hadn't gone home, he leaned closer and infused his voice with as much gravity as he was capable of. "There is nothing about you, Klaus," he said, enunciating each word with care. "You are not acting invitingly in any way. You are merely a ... handsome, attractive man."

The glare he got had something almost accusatory to it, as if he should have been able to come up with a better explanation than that. "Well, how do I get it to stop, then? Is it the hair? I can get a better hair cut."

With "better" in his loved one's military talk presumably translating to "shorter". Dorian's stomach clenched cold at the mere idea. "No!" he ordered sharply. "That won't help at all!" And Klaus apparently believed him. He sank into his seat as if this news added to his already heavy burden or as if some part of him had clung to the hope of an easy explanation with an efficient solution.

"Not with me, anyway," he continued, softer again. "It ... might ... help ... with someone who doesn't already love you as much as I do." Actually, he wouldn't like it one bit, because he might just have plans for that hair, but he knew better than to even hint at anything possibly capable of discouraging him. He had seen a pair of scissors in one of the kitchen drawers. Besides, it really wouldn't make him surrender - after all, hair grew out again. "But, seriously, Klaus? Do you really want to look like Lawrence?"

The way Klaus's eyes nearly bulged out and his mouth twisted answered that question rather satisfactorily and Dorian felt confident that hair would not be sacrificed in the near future. Thank the Lord. "And there's not much you can do about anything else either," he said firmly. "How could you do your sworn duty to NATO if you were ... a fatso? And just think of how nauseated it would make you to eat all that sugar all the time. How many sugar cubes does your chief use, again? Is it ... ten?"

Klaus sighed and the beer was morosely swigged on.

"And if you didn't wear neat clothes you'd be a disgrace to Germany, wouldn't you?"

The beer was glared at and then the time had come for the ceiling to be the lucky recipient of that hard, unreasonable accusation.

"So, you see, Klaus, there really is nothing you can do." Of course, there were plenty of things Klaus could do, if he was willing to bring himself to do them, but Dorian was hopeful that his beloved wasn't quite as far gone as to, for example, considering permanently disfiguring himself. Would the possibility that he would be scaring witnesses even more than he do now help him rethink that possibility? Hmm ... No, I know! He'd be too easily distinguishable to work undercover. Very good! I'll tell him that. Good plan, Dorian, old chap! Though he most fervently hoped that things wouldn't go quite that far.

Klaus sighed again. "So, I just have to buck up and let any pervert who sees me keep on pawing me?"

Which was, of course, absolutely out of the question - if Klaus could just be made to make one small exception to what otherwise must be a firm rule.

"Most of us perverts, as you so delightfully call us, do take threats of having our fingers cut off rather seriously, you know," Dorian replied lightly. "And I dare say that your sparkling personality should charm most others not to get ideas above their station."

Their station, of course, being "below Dorian". "Ah ... General Fischer still has his fingers, I take it? He, ah, did stop?"

A grumpy noise asserted that this probably was the case. This did little to appease Dorian. He would still make sure that the good General got a surprise or six in his future that would not look good at all on his official record.

He decided that he would let Klaus find out after the fact, though. "You know ..." he said instead, "I have a thought. I do consider myself something of an expert on the matter of desiring you and-" He ignored the contemptuous snort from the sofa. "-I do believe there might be one thing - well, in the beginning of our relationship there might have been one thing, anyway." He ignored another snort. "Obviously not now!" he said firmly, just to get that idea out of Klaus's head. "It's much too late for that now, but, yes, earlier it just might have caused me to reconsider the wisdom of courting you."

When Klaus didn't at once start to yell at the top of his lungs on the subject of "courting", Dorian took that to mean that his dear little fishy was nosing at the bait: interested, but not quite hungry enough to nibble just yet. Like the good fisherman he actually was - he had fished with his grandfather in the brooks near North Downs any number of times and with James as well - he kept still, giving his pretty prey time to consider the flashy lure and become emboldened enough to swallow the bait.

After having drunk from the beer again Klaus grumbled: "Well, what the fuck is it?" The contents now just barely covered the bottom of the bottle. Dorian worried a little about all that quickly ingested alcohol. There was an ever so slight slur to Klaus's voice - nothing pronounced, just barely noticeable to Dorian who was well used to the crispness of Klaus's normal tones. Considering the matter he finally poured himself some wine.

"Don't get me wrong though, dear, I still would have considered you devastatingly handsome and I might have flirted a bit with you, anyway. Or a lot. Just for the fun of it and to see that gorgeous flush of yours when you get frustrated. I'm only human, my love, and not some monk either. Still, I do believe that I would have read your charming 'Und wenn du dich auf den Kopf stellst und mit dem Hintern Fliegen fängst!" as less of an encouragement." He took an elegant sip from the wine. "This is a nice year, you should try it. Much too sweet for a meal, of course, but lovely for a dessert. Though mixing wine and beer can be a bit risky and I think you just might have mixed them enough today, even if you did have the wine before the beer rather than the other way around. I wouldn't want to get you drunk and helpless at my mercy. Oh, whatever am I saying? Of course I wouldn't mind, but perhaps not tonight, given the-"

"There's something wrong with this fucking beer. It's empty. And would you bloody well say what you mean, not beat around the fucking bushes and start making like a bloody Sommem-emilli-ier!"

"Do you want me to get you another beer?"

"Nein! Just out with it!"

Dorian reflected vaguely that he could have made a rather witty comeback about that particular request, but he judged that Klaus was even less receptive than usual to innuendo at the moment. Instead he obliged. Not by taking something out, though. "First: are we in agreement that I'm the world leading expert on the subject of desiring you?" Teasing Klaus just a little bit was all good and well and, besides, he wanted to hear Klaus acknowledge the truth in his words.

"Whatever." Klaus now held the empty bottle to his chest and had lifted one foot to the edge of the sofa, curling in a bit on himself.

Dorian smiled. "Just checking. Well, Klaus, the one thing that just possibly might have discouraged me would have been if you had been in a permanent relationship with someone. Preferably someone very, very possessive and who was more than willing to make sure everyone knew just who you belonged to and the consequences of trying to persuade you otherwise."

"I don't belong to fucking anyone." The words said with a little less venom than they usually would have been, though Dorian was willing to chalk that up to the wine, the Jägermeisters and the beers.

"No, no, I'm just saying 'if'. That is a wonderful little word, Klaus, 'if'. It fills the world with possibilities. If you had been in a relationship with someone. Someone very possessive. Someone willing to show the world there is absolutely no use whatsoever in trying to to paw you, charm you or otherwise seduce you. You wouldn't have to threaten cutting someone's fingers off - he would gladly arrange to have it done for you." Yes, slipping in a "he". Dorian did know of a few ladies who wouldn't have hesitated to do something similar either, if need called for such ruthlessness, but planting the idea of a male lover a little firmer into Klaus's mind couldn't hurt.

"If."

My little fishy never even noticed the "he"! Go me! "Well, yes. If. A wonderful little word."

And then Klaus looked almost sad. "No one ever offered to cut off someone's fingers for me before."

Oh, my pretty fishy, that was a nibble I do so believe. Liked that, did you? Even if you seem just a wee bit drunk. He made a little face. "Well, cutting someone's fingers off would get rather messy, I would think. Do you know what blood does to this type of fabric? Well, any type of fabric, really. But ..." He lowered his voice. "There are things one can do to people other than cutting their fingers off. And Klaus?" He lowered his voice just a little further, to the level where even Beck swore he got shivers down his spine. "I'm very, very, very possessive."

"You? No. Not in a relationship with you."

"Of course not, Klaus. I said 'if'. That wonderful little word 'if'. Possibilities."

Klaus snorted, but his previously protectively held bottle lowered a fraction. "Almost worth it, to get those other perverts off my back."

Oh my, my beautiful little fishy just took a big bite!

"Well ..." he said slowly, as if thinking things over. "You know what?" He looked down at his hand and then loosened the big gold ring from his middle finger. It was slightly too large for him, but should fit Klaus perfectly. If his careful measurements were anything to go by, from the last time he had had a chance to hold Klaus's hand, even if the man had been unconscious at the time. "Do you see this?"

"Whatever. Frippery."

"Oh yes. Frippery. But rather plain frippery for my taste, to tell you the truth, I've been thinking of parting with it anyway. So. How about this, my dear major? I know you've seen the lovely board I brought along, even if you were glaring at it. Let's play a game. If you win, I will graciously allow you to have this ring. If you want to you can tell the world it is from me. Shout it from the rooftops, I certainly wouldn't mind. Or if you find yourself in a situation where it would be necessary, you can always heavily imply that it is from someone important and that they should keep their grabby hands to themselves if they know what is good for them. You could say that you are well and truly spoken for, by someone who would not take them approaching you lightly. And I can speak for you all day, believe me – and shout for you during the night, too! That should make some of them think twice. You could consider it practice for being undercover. And I would be most happy to back you up and pretend to be your lover whenever necessary, even if I would be a perfect gentleman when it's just the two of us."

Of course, he had never really understood that saying about being a perfect gentleman in the context of not trying to seduce someone if given the opportunity. Dorian fully believed himself capable of seducing someone and still being a perfect gentleman.

When Klaus neither growled nor replied, Dorian moved the small table with the chess board to between them. Then he gently threaded the gold ring over one corner of the Lubyanka report doing duty as Black King.

"Bloody chess?"

"Don't you play, Klaus? I'm sure you do. Strategy and such, it seems like a perfect game for you."

Klaus grunted. "Of course I do. Didn't know you did."

"There's a lot about me that you don't know, Klaus. So ... Play a game?"

"I can beat you even if I'm tipsy."

"Oh, I'm sure you can." In fact, Dorian was willing to play to lose, just this once. "Though fair warning: if I win I want a kiss. Just a tiny one. You may still keep the ring." Or maybe he would play to win - he usually did.

And the grabby General would still pay.


End file.
